Once Upon a Time
by Dragongirl of the Stars
Summary: Donna tells her children a bedtime story.
1. Chapter 1

Once Upon a Time

_**Twoshot. Post JE.**_

_**Disclaimer: I only own the children and Richard.**_

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She doesn't remember why she had gone back to school. Somewhere in the depths of her memory, she vaguely remembers waking up one morning with questions in her head; what was she going to do with the rest of her life? Be a temp for an office? Flit from one place to the next, lengthy resume in hand? Why those particular questions had popped into her head upon waking that one morning also eludes her. A dream, maybe? She doesn't know, even now. But she does remember suddenly finding herself on the campus of a university, asking for admission papers that very same morning.

That was over ten years ago.

Donna recalls the shock on her mother's face when she had told her about the university. She had been hesitant about disclosing the news, so used to being discouraged and shot down, but was surprised to hear her mother's support and encouragement on the matter. She remembers thinking, '_Who are you and what have you done with my mother?'_

Her grandfather had been nearly twice as supportive, grinning and going on about how proud he was of her. Donna remembers wondering what she had done that could have possibly made him so proud to begin with; she'd spent most of her adult life scrounging for jobs and being... well, average. Before now, she'd led an average life, had average jobs and earned an average salary. There was nothing she could remember that would have made him act the way he did. _Perhaps_, she thinks, _he had just been feeling particularly optimistic that day_. She might never know.

Donna had graduated from the university with a major in journalism, nearly six years ago. Now, she worked for a newspaper and did a fair bit of travelling; flying from place to place to interview people and get the story on whatever was happening. It is a busy life, most of the time, but she enjoys it and she's never regretted having gone back to school. It's how she had met Richard, anyway, and that had been an upside of her work if nothing else.

It's night-time now and she's sitting on the couch in her living room, sipping coffee and watching the news on low volume. There had been quite a bit of 'alien' activity during the past month – she had even written a report on one of the incidents a week or so before – quite a lot of it seemed a little far-fetched, if not completely fantastical. People had become paranoid, Donna thinks, blaming every weird coincidence or strange happening on creatures from outer-space. She'd been assigned to so many of these 'alien encounters' that she was now glad the hype is finally beginning to die down. There are less and less of these incidents – at least for now – and Donna has finally been able to catch a break from work.

She's never really believed in all those stories about the earth being snatched straight out of the solar system and invaded by aliens or the entire world being polluted by the _Atmos_ system or the thousands of blobs of fat that had simply fallen off of peoples' bodies and walked away because of something called _Adipose_. Where had she been during all of that, anyway? She couldn't remember any of it. Perhaps the world is going mad and she's the only sane one left. Donna frowns a little, hardly paying attention to the weather forecast on the news. _Or maybe it's the other way around, _she thinks, _and I'm the one going insane._

Lost in her thoughts, she slowly becomes aware of the figures standing just in range of her peripheral vision, and she turns her head to see two identical little faces peering at her from the hallway. Realising they've been caught, the five-year-old twin boys come out from behind the wall and bound over to the couch, clad in matching pyjamas.

"What are you two doing out of bed?" She asks them, setting aside her coffee; she welcomes them into her lap, despite her reprimand. They crawl up onto the couch to sit with her.

"Can't sleep," John announces, clutching a fistful of his fleece navy blanket. His brother, Jack, turns his wide, blue-green eyes on his mother. _Their father's eyes_, she thinks, corner of her mouth quirking upwards.

"Tell us a story," John's twin, Jack, demands, tugging on Donna's shirt. Donna smiles a little and ruffles his hair. She's tired, but the dual sets of wide, pleading eyes are too hard to resist.

"Oh, all right," she sighs, still smiling. Her boys both cheer and jump up to bound back to their room. Donna rises, flipping off the television and draining the last of her coffee before following the eager twins down the hall.

Jack and John – both names she had come up with herself, finding she liked them quite a lot for apparently no reason – clamber into their separate beds, eager to hear whatever tale their mother will tell them. In only moments both of them have hunkered down to listen, thick duvets pulled up to their chins and eyes wide with anticipation.

Donna makes her way through their room, stepping carefully around the various toys and legos and whatever else happens to be lying in the floor. She makes a mental note to have the boys pick up their room tomorrow.

Sitting down in the floor between the two beds, Donna makes herself comfortable and begins to think about what kind of story she could tell to her little boys.

"Alright then," she says, looking from one boy to the other. "What would you like to hear?"

The answer is announced by both Jack and John at the same time, perfectly simultaneous. "Aliens!" they exclaim. Aliens; a topic Donna has somehow been expecting. An extra sense that comes with motherhood, maybe, or perhaps it is simply because of recent events. She puts it down as the latter, leaning against the bedside table between the boys' beds.

Donna has never been known to have a vivid imagination, being one for facts rather than fiction. She thinks, for a good few moments, about a tale with aliens. At first she comes up with the traditional "little-green-men" story, but then a second idea appears in her mind, and the former one vanishes. Suddenly she has it: an idea for a story that has popped up from out of nowhere.

"Here we go," she says, feeling strangely eager to share this fascinating new idea. A smile twitches a her mouth as she begins to speak, imagining a man in a suit and trench coat she'd never seen before in her life; a man with a big grin and brown eyes and unkempt hair; a library full of shadows and a little girl. But with every idea she thought of that same man – a _traveller_ – that lived among the stars.

"Once upon a time..."

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_**Part One complete. I'll start Part Two soon.**_

_**-Dots  
**_


	2. Only a Faerie Tale

Yes, it's been a while.

_**Note: I've decided to make this a Threeshot, and I've also broken out of present tense. I have a habit of playing with tenses, as some of you might have noticed. Hope it doesn't bother you. Oh and thanks to Storyteller Person, for adding me to your story alert, and Ginger Glinda the Tangerine for reviewing. :)**_

_**Disclaimer: Just the twins. **_

_**Part Two; Only a Faerie Tale**_

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Jack and John sometimes remembered their mother's wild, adventurous stories.

Every now and then someone would say something that triggered their memories, such as the careless mention of being in two places at once or a comment on the speed of time. It was at those instances when either of the twins, at many points in their lives, would suddenly remember one of the dozens of stories they'd been told, all about the crazy-haired man and his 'companion' that lived in a big blue box. Neither of them had ever spoken of the stories, vivid and detailed and strangely real as they were, to anyone but each other. They were only faerie tales, after all.

The twins stared solemnly at the dark wood casket before them. Today those stories were only one of the many memories fluttering across the twin's minds. Donna had outlived her husband by more than ten years.

Looking down at his handful of flowers, Jack remembered how he had never understood his mother's late fascination with roses. His father had always teased her about it, saying she was just a sucker for romance, but Jack wasn't so sure. John had agreed when he'd said that there was probably a much deeper reason behind her mild obsession. Kind of like how bananas and pears and marmalade made her smile, as if she was enjoying some private joke in which no one else seemed to be included.

Glancing at his twin brother, John watched as he absently ran his fingers over the petals of the rose in his hand. They were both grown men, now – both approaching their mid thirties – but were still as identical as ever, mirror images of each other. Parallel in a way.

That had been the other thing – parallel worlds and alternate realities had featured often in her stories. They were strange places, made dangerous by human curiosity – gingerbread houses, she'd called them once, like with the story of Hansel and Gretel.

When the time came the twins each said their piece, remarking on the success of their mother and her dedication – to both her family and her work. Jack laid his flowers atop the casket and both stepped away, tears in their eyes, watching as it was slowly lowered beneath the ground.

Jack and John stayed long after the funeral had ended, conversing with family and friends and trying to find a lighter side to the solemn November day. They mingled with the few individuals who had lingered, their hands buried in their pockets and their breath curling into the cold morning air.

It was just as the last few people were leaving that Jack cast his gaze around the quiet cemetery. Everything was calm, cloaked with a stillness that reminded the surrounding world that this was a place of resting, a place of peace. It was a reminder that all things came to rest, that everything had an end. The trees, tall and bare in the winter season, seemed to stand sentry throughout the cemetery, as if to protect and preserve that peace.

Jack almost mistook the figure as yet another sentry of the cemetery, at first. In his brown suit and coat, he could have easily been an extension of the tree at his side. The figure was a tall man, standing near the periphery of the cemetery, a good distance away. His long coat swayed in the breeze, the only thing moving on his person; the rest of him was still as the trees. He was gazing out at them, watching them. Jack found himself staring back.

The last of their friends disappeared out the cemetery gates; Jack's brother joined him again, taking him by the shoulder. John asked him if he was ready to leave, then followed his twin's gaze out across the cemetery.

The man at the tree seemed to nod at them, but did not move nor look away. From a distance, his hair seemed unkempt and he looked very lean: characteristics that struck both men as familiar. Familiar from long nights of stories and tales.

The twins looked at each other, knowing they had seen and thought the same thing. Jack pushed his hands even deeper into his pockets. "Stories," he said. John nodded.

Both men turned and headed towards the exit, but they both knew the truth.

As they walked to their separate cars, the faint wheezing of a time machine could be heard across the lot, unheard by all but Jack and John.

_No_, they thought together. _It was never only a faerie tale_.


	3. He Always Would

It's very short, but on purpose. The shortest I've ever written, actually.

**_Disclaimer: Still only the twins. Well, the roses are mine, too._**

_**Part Three; He Always Would**_

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The Doctor stood at Donna's grave, gazing solemnly at the tombstone. He pulled a bundle of flowers from his coat pocket – Arcterian roses – and laid them on the damp grass. The petals were a deep, sapphire blue, and the stems were dark green. They would not begin to wilt for two weeks.

The Doctor's eyes traced the engraving on the gray stone before him; he read it over and over.

HERE LIES DONNA NOBLE-STUBALO. REST IN PEACE.

_The most important person in the Universe, _he wanted to add. _The most brilliant woman on the face of the planet. _She deserved to be remembered for what she'd done for the world. Most of all, she deserved to remember_ herself_. Deserved to remember what she'd done, what she'd been through, along with everyone else.

Casting one last glance at the resting place of his old Companion, the Doctor turned and walked towards the cemetery gate, hands in his pockets.

_Donna might not have remembered_, he thought, _but I will remember for her_.

And he always would.

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Finalmente, el fin.

A review would be lovely.

ps. Donna's married name, Stubalo, is an annagram I made for the latin word _abstulo_, meaning 'to take away.' I thought it was fitting: _Noble Lady, taken away._

_Thank yoo fore reeding. :)_


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